


Don't Let Go

by NamelesslyNightlock



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apologies, Cuddling & Snuggling, Desperation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fights, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani Needs a Hug, Loss of Control, Love Confessions, M/M, Minor Violence, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Needs a Hug, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Pain, Regret, Romantic Fluff, Soft Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Spooning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:27:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26424106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NamelesslyNightlock/pseuds/NamelesslyNightlock
Summary: Nicky has a violent nightmare—and as always, Joe will give everything to make sure he's all right.
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 35
Kudos: 434





	Don't Let Go

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BladeoftheNebula](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BladeoftheNebula/gifts).



> Neb suggested I write something with cuddling in it. Well, this does have cuddling in it, so, it's fine... right? Hope you like it! ❤︎

Joe was woken by a jab to his gut, the impact knocking the wind from him and causing him to jerk upright.

Immediately, as always, his eyes went to Nicky—even before he had caught his own breath. And before his mind had caught up with what he was seeing, Joe’s hands were already reaching for his love, offering comfort and anything else that might be needed.

Nicolò looked a mess. There was no other fair way to put it. His skin was pale enough to be almost called grey, his whole expression screwed tight even in sleep. His limbs were tense yet jerking, the clear cause of the assault to Joe’s gut—and his hair was sticking to his face from the sweat.

It was unusual—Nicky’s dreams were generally suffered in silence, a slight tremble of his skin or twitch of his fingers the only sign of duress. Joe knew this well, he’d seen enough of them over the past several centuries. But while this was unusual, it wasn’t the first time it had happened, and knowing that it meant his Nicolò was suffering beyond any norm had Joe’s heart clenching in horror.

“Nicolò, destati,” he whispered, his hands landing on his love’s shoulder now only mere seconds after he had woken up himself.

Nicky’s body jerked again at Joe’s touch, and his eyes flew open—

But rather than looking upon him in relief, those grey eyes were filled with _terror._

Joe drew in a breath, prepared to offer words he knew would calm Nicky down—

But Nicky didn’t give him the chance. He had always been fast, faster than anyone else Joe knew, with only the possible exception of Andy—and he had his hands around Joe’s throat in less than half a heartbeat.

Joe gasped, and _shoved—_ pushing Nicky away, trying to get a breath so he could shout or scream or, or _something._ But Nicky held tight, eyes seeing only the shadows of his nightmares, horror breaking across reality.

As his lungs started to burn Joe began to act in desperation, hands pulling at Nicky’s wrists, then he slammed upward with one of his knees—

He didn’t have the space to make it hurt, but it pushed Nicky back enough for Joe to draw a breath. He tried to roll away but Nicky moved with him, and the pair of them fell from their bed in a tangle, hitting the ground with a solid _thump._

Joe wondered if, _hoped_ that one of the others might come in to help—but they were, unfortunately for this moment, more likely to _avoid_ those kinds of sounds coming from Joe and Nicky’s bedroom. _Usually,_ Joe would be grateful for that.

But, no. This would work out. Even if Nicky killed him now, Joe would be able to calm him after, and he knew Nicky would rather the others not see him that way—

Yet again, _no._ If Nicolò killed him… Joe knew that it would lead to only _more_ nightmares.

So, Joe _fought._

He kicked and he hit and he snarled. He forced his way on top and slammed Nicky into the carpet, both hands on his shoulders, leaning down as close as he could to his love’s angry, _terrified_ face.

“Nicolò,” he said again, soft tone a sheer contrast to the hiss of Nicky’s pain, languages mixing together until he couldn’t be sure which he was speaking. It didn’t matter, he knew that Nicolò would understand. “Hayati, come back to me. You’re all right, you’re safe, _we’re safe._ It’s all right. It’s _me_.”

Nicky let out a sound that was somewhere close to a whine, his eyes suddenly widening in what could only be horror.

“ _Yusuf?”_ he gasped, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, you’re—”

“I’m all right,” Joe sighed again, relieved and exhausted. He leaned down to press their foreheads together, Nicky’s skin feeling hot and damp against his own. “I’m here.”

Nicky’s hands were firm against Joe’s back, and he felt the pull of his shirt as desperate fingers twisted in the material. His breaths were quick and sharp against Joe’s skin, catching on a broken rhythm that tugged at Joe’s heart.

Joe kept talking, knowing that it would help, words flowing easily through reassurances and whispered nothings. He told Nicky they were safe, he reminded him of where they were, that Nile and Andy were in the next room, that he was not going anywhere. He talked about what they had done that day, how they had walked through the old streets hand in hand, how they had laughed warmly at Nile’s excitement in the gallery. How Andy had nearly thrown a man into the Arno when he’d looked at her a little too interestedly for a little too long. And how they were both _safe,_ and that Joe was not going anywhere, not for a very long time.

Slowly, Nicky’s breathing started to even, the press of his head into Joe’s shoulder feeling more relaxed and less desperate. His hands remained firm at Joe’s back, though, and Joe did not move from his position, remained with as much of himself on top of Nicolò as he could.

Joe knew that Nicolò always felt comforted from the feel of Joe’s weight upon him, around him—and despite knowing that the mattress would be far softer than the floor, Joe did not suggest that they move.

“There you are, hayati,” Joe whispered, turning his head downward to press a kiss to Nicolò’s hair.

Nicky let out a sigh that felt like a shudder, whole body trembling under Joe’s. “I’m sorry,” he said again.

“No need for that. You’re here, that’s all that matters.”

Joe did not ask what Nicolò had dreamed about—there was no need for that, either. Nicolò would tell him when he was ready, and for now… the most important thing was settling anxious minds.

“Do you want me to make you some tea?” Joe whispered, leaning back just enough to cup Nicky’s cheek, running his thumb along the dark circle under his eye.

“No,” Nicky breathed back, holding Joe’s gaze. “Please… just don’t let go.”

Agreeing to that request was always the easiest thing that Joe could ever do.

They did not move back to the bed, as doing so would mean separating more than either of them were currently comfortable with. And besides, they had both slept in far worse places. Joe merely kept his arms around his love as they shifted in place, turning onto their sides until Nicolò’s back was to Joe’s chest, and Joe was wrapped around him as much as was possible.

Joe let go with one arm just long enough to grip the edge of the blanket and tug it off the bed, pulling it over them both. Then he pressed his nose into the soft brush of Nicky’s hair, breathing in to steady himself as much as his love.

He felt Nicolò’s hands tighten around his own, and Joe let out a sigh.

“Please don’t beat yourself up over this,” he whispered. “I love you, and you did not hurt me.”

Nicky shivered despite the blanket, and Joe knew that in his mind, he _was_ blaming himself. This wasn’t the first time that Nicky had suffered such a dream, and it likely wouldn’t be the last—but as Joe had reminded himself when it had begun, these dreams _were_ uncommon. They would both be all right, with time.

Joe sighed and pressed a kiss to the back of Nicky’s neck, knowing that the best thing to do was just to be there, and to remind Nicolò that he was loved. He hugged Nicky close against him and then, gently, he once again began to whisper—words of love, words of poetry, words that would always be the truth.

And slowly, softly, he felt Nicolò begin to relax back against him. He doubted either of them would be sleeping again that night, but just being together was the best remedy for any fear or shadow that could possibly haunt them.

They would make it through, the same as they always did—wrapped tightly in each other’s arms, with no intention of letting go.


End file.
